


Of Vices and Virtues

by MeetTheRoyalMess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Notes, Pining Kageyama Tobio, Second year Kagehina, Third Year KageHina, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetTheRoyalMess/pseuds/MeetTheRoyalMess
Summary: Words evade him as he predicted they would—and Tobio is unbelievably frustrated. He can’t write frilly words with large loops or heart-shaped punctuation. He can’t name off stanzas that remind him of Hinata’s all-encompassing presence. He can’t even bring himself to write a simple “I like you” because itisn’tthat simple, because Hinata is more than that. There’s so much he could say, and he wants desperately to let it flow out of him, but he justcan’t.There, staring at that cursedly blank page while others are off writing novels, Tobio finally understands what envy is.~Or, Kageyama navigates how to tell Hinata about his feelings in a way that Hinata can easily comprehend, but (of course) it doesn't quite pan out like he thought.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 19
Kudos: 193





	Of Vices and Virtues

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't turn out exactly how I was expecting it to but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless!

Tobio is by no means a virtuous man—never has been, never will be. He strides through life with pride riding upon his shoulders and greed licking at his fingertips. His tongue lashes like a cracking whip against the skin of those he cares about. He’s aware of these faults, follies, and what some might call sins. Tobio bears them unabashedly, uses them to his advantage, and despises them all at once.

However, Tobio does possess a few desirable qualities (according to the people willing to see past his glaring flaws). He sees the potential in people and does his best to draw out their strongest abilities—a kindness in its own right, he supposes. He strains to the edges of himself to achieve his goals—a diligent habit that is not unique to him, but it is a compliment he appreciates. Oh, and he’s good at volleyball.

He’s _really_ fucking good at volleyball.

Another upside and perhaps the most respectable portion of Tobio (excluding his athletic talent, nothing could really beat that out fairly) is the notable lack of jealousy on his list of shortcomings. Envy or jealousy, whichever path one chooses to take down that twisted and ugly road, is wholly unfamiliar to Tobio.

At least, it was, until one day in his second year on which a brave young student decided to slip a note into Hinata’s locker, expressing an abundance of emotions Tobio knows all too well—emotions that Tobio cannot, for the life of him, bring himself to express.

Hinata bounces up to him during lunch break with ruddy cheeks and twitching facial features. His face switches between harsh wrinkles to wiggling lines at a concerning speed. Tobio soon sees why: a delicately folded paper sealed with a heart sticker and stamped with Hinata’s name was trapped in the boy’s tight grip.

“Hey so I, uh, found this?” He laughs unnaturally, all high and tinny and grating to Tobio’s ears.

“Well?” Tobio sits on the nearby steps as he stabs a straw into his milk carton. “Are you going to read it?”

Limp, Hinata flops down next to him and slips a finger under the triangular flap. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Tobio peers through the corner of his eye as Hinata carefully rips the letter open. He can tell the exact moment Hinata begins to read, his smooth face morphing into a pinched expression of concentration. Tobio continues to stare while Hinata scans the page, taking the time to trace the slope of Hinata’s upturned nose and try to count pale eyelashes. Suddenly though, Hinata’s eyebrows skyrocket towards his hairline. “Oh wow.”

“What does it say?”

“Uh,” Hinata rubs the back of his neck sheepishly but didn't remove his eyes from the lines of neat script. “It’s…kind of a lot?”

Tobio relents, only slightly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” Hinata shakes his head. His orange curls catch the breeze and stray towards Tobio. The hairs aren’t quite long enough to reach him yet but Tobio wishes to close the gap and touch them all the same. “It’s just a lot to process but it’s also, like, really good?”

Tobio hums, still too focused on the golden highlights in Hinata’s hair.

Hinata clears his throat and extends the paper to Tobio. Automatically, he reaches for it. He gives Hinata a brief once over before training his eyes to the slip of perfumed paper in his hands.

_‘Dear Hinata,_

_I cannot express the joy you bring to daily life. The enthusiasm you show, whether during a game (I’ve been to all of them, by the way, you’re really good!) or during a conversation with your friends, is blinding and I admire it so much. I truly don’t know how any sane person could look at you without stopping to take in the sight of such a wonderful person. Hinata-san, I really like you, but I know you wouldn’t like someone like me. I really only wanted you to know how appreciated you truly are._

_Best wishes,_

_An admirer’_

Tobio isn’t necessarily surprised by the contents of the letter. In fact, he couldn’t agree with it more. Multiple times throughout his meticulous reading, he had to actively hold himself back from nodding along in solidarity. Hinata is a force to behold, other people are well within their rights to notice that and, admittedly, Tobio is a little relieved that other people do. He’s surprised that this is the first confession letter that Hinata has received more than anything else.

It has been a while since Tobio realized his less-than-platonic feelings towards Hinata and they have only grown stronger over time. Hinata is more than a friend and he always has been; though he’s also less than a lover. Hinata is a partner, above all else, and Tobio wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hinata shares Tobio’s passion, his greed, and his gluttony, blow for blow. Hinata matches Tobio’s vices with some of his own. Hinata challenges. Hinata comforts, he promises, and he stands by Tobio’s side just as he promised. The two of them entwine on a fundamental level yet diverge enough so the scales of fate do not tip to an unfavorable outcome. Tobio revels in it (he’d be a fool not to).

Hinata gives so much of himself in all his relationships, this Tobio is well aware of. He throws himself head first into an abyss of unknown variables and impossibilities. That’s just the way he is. Other people—other players—see this and they offer to help Hinata utilize his power in different ways. Each one represents another step in Hinata’s growth, in his rise to the very top and Tobio doesn’t want it any other way.

After all, the more powerful his rival, the sweeter the win will be.

However, despite all this, despite knowing this is his normal trail of thinking, something unpleasant rears its sordid head and plucks his heartstrings. Tobio…is really unsure of what it is or even how to react to such a creature. All he knows is that its whispers pick at his insecurities like scabs. It whispers, _this person did what you don’t have the guts to do and did a much better job than you could ever do._

“Kageyamaaaaa?” A slim finger pokes at his face. “Are you done now?”

Tobio nods, handing the letter back with numb fingers. “It's nice.”

“Isn’t it?” Hinata smiles. “I was kinda nervous about it before but I’m really glad they sent it.”

“Me too,” murmurs Tobio. He spends the rest of lunchtime convincing himself that he wasn’t lying.

* * *

Incidents similar to that keep happening. The occasional anonymous note would appear in Hinata’s locker in the morning, they would both read it at lunch, and Tobio would spend the rest of the school day quelling the bitterness of inexpression.

There comes a day towards the end of their second year when Tobio reaches his catalyst. One specific line hits a little too close to home for Tobio's liking. _‘You look so beautiful when you fly, Hinata-san.’_ A chasm forms in his chest, starting as a hairpin fracture before finally ripping open and exposing sensitive organs and threatening to spill what he so desperately wants to keep inside.

The compliment rings true, as all the contents of the letters typically do, but Tobio could’ve told Hinata that long ago if he weren’t so afraid of the muddled mess that would leave his mouth. It should not be the first time Hinata is hearing the things he deserves to hear. It should not be jarring to Hinata that people adore him in “that way.” But it is, because Tobio has never been good at communication—especially when the emotions involved are large and looming and threaten to swallow him whole.

Luckily, one of Tobio’s merits is his ability to _try._

So, that night after practice, he diligently sets aside the contents of his desk and slams a blank piece of paper onto the wood. Tobio stares at the white window into oblivion, spinning a pen back and forth between his fingers as the blue lines wobble in front of his unfocused eyes.

Maybe he should ask Miwa? Would she know how to write a confession? Or would she be the one receiving them? Either way, she could potentially help him. But then again, he also knows his sister will no doubt riddle her instructions with knowing remarks and try to get him to “speak from the heart” or some shit. 

Tobio’s lips stretch thin. Words evade him as he predicted they would—and Tobio is unbelievably frustrated. He can’t write frilly words with large loops or heart-shaped punctuation. He can’t name off stanzas that remind him of Hinata’s all-encompassing presence. He can’t even bring himself to write a simple “I like you” because it _isn’t_ that simple, because Hinata is more than that. There’s so much he could say, and he wants desperately to let it flow out of him, but he just _can’t._

There, staring at that cursedly blank page while others are off writing novels, Tobio finally understands what envy is. He wants more than anything to leech a fraction of the skill from the other people who’ve fallen under Hinata’s spell. Then at least Hinata could _know,_ he doesn’t even have to accept Tobio’s confession. He doesn’t have to steal kisses or giggle breathless whispers into his ear. He doesn’t have to do anything—he doesn’t owe Tobio _anything_ —Tobio merely wants him to catch a glimpse of the supernova rushing through his veins whenever they are together.

But the words will not manifest. Still, Tobio tries.

He falls asleep at his desk. When he wakes up, the only thing marking his paper is a tiny puddle of his own drool.

After that, Tobio subconsciously (or maybe consciously, he wouldn’t be surprised) searches for different ways to tell Hinata he is loved. He finds it’s easier with volleyball—because _of course_ it is. On the court, his communication is at its peak. At the very least, he knows he can use what he’s best at to release his emotions.

Every toss he sends Hinata’s way becomes a confession all on its own.

When they reach their third year, he takes a small step off the court by packing Hinata’s favorite snacks into his bag every morning. If Hinata ever complained about being hungry on their walk after practice, Tobio would silently open his pack and fling the sweetened granola bar towards the whining boy beside him. The first few times, Hinata coos and pokes a finger into Tobio’s cheek with a teasing glint in his eyes. “How sweet of you, Kageyama-kun. Even if I think you’ve poisoned it…”

Tobio swipes at the other boy's head, which he easily dodges with a bout of deafening giggles trailing behind him.

That becomes the new normal until Tobio finally decides to pair a simple phrase to his actions. “Take care of yourself, idiot,” he grumbles as he presses a fruit cup into Hinata’s awaiting palm.

Hinata hums happily and starts slurping at the juice threatening to spill over the sides of the plastic cup. “I can’t help being hungry after practice.”

“Of course not,” Tobio replies coolly. “You have to jump around a lot. Like a frog.”

“Oi!” Hinata nudges at Tobio with his unoccupied hand. Tobio stumbles, to his own surprise.

It can be easy to forget how much muscle mass Hinata has gained during the winter months when he’s drowning in clothing to keep himself warm. But even now, with Hinata wrapped in layers of dark fabric and a worn-out scarf he is quite fond of, Tobio can see broadening shoulders pushing at the seams of his jacket if he looks close enough. Hinata is definitely filling out well.

Tobio rolls his eyes away from Hinata and shoves him back. “That wasn’t an insult, dumbass.”

Hinata yelps but Tobio doesn’t stray from the familiar sidewalk path. Hinata’s pitifully fake cries fall upon stoic ears. “You made me spill it all over myself!” Hinata is pouting, Tobio can tell from the customary dip in his voice.

Tobio stops briefly to glance at a displeased Hinata. His tiny nose scrunches, there’s a slight jut to his wet bottom lip, and a small droplet runs down his chin. Amber eyes squarely point to the soiled dark spot on the front of his scarf before shooting up to meet Tobio’s.

They stay like for several seconds, Tobio holding back a sigh. Hinata is too damn cute for his own good.

He extends his palm, not once breaking their stare down. “Give it.”

Hinata tilts his head like a curious animal. “Wh—”

“It was my fault,” Tobio mutters. He hopes the pink on his cheeks can pass as the winter cold and not the raging blush its becoming. “I’ll wash it for you.”

Several vacant blinks from Hinata later, Tobio is stepping forward and gently grasping the skewed scarf. He unwinds the fabric carefully, brushing against the overgrown curls and Hinata’s soft neck. Hinata shivers. Tobio murmurs an apology for his cold fingers and moves away from the goosebumps rising on his skin.

Tobio’s heart physically pinches at the close proximity, forcing himself to remove the scarf completely and step away.

“Your hands are really cold,” Hinata whispers, as if Tobio were still inches from his face. 

Tobio clings to the old scarf desperately, refusing to meet Hinata’s gaze. “Sorry.”

Without another word, both of them pivot on a heel and begin walking again. They don’t speak for the rest of the walk either. 

(When Tobio arrives at home, he puts Hinata’s scarf in the wash but forgets it the next morning on the way to school. And every day after that. The one time he remembers the scarf, he wraps it around his own neck before heading out the door.

Hinata glances at it when they meet at their usual intersection but otherwise, there is no further mention of it.

Tobio counts it as his greatest win yet.)

* * *

The weather grows warmer and soon enough, Tobio is caught in the whirlwind of saying _“I love you"_ without actually uttering a single word. He finds an electric sort of comfort within the little presents exchanged. Hinata accepts it easily, returning every one with a grin and gentle brush of his hand.

Even so, he still considers drafting a letter, even if it is never sent. Mostly he thinks about how he can possibly sneak a piece of paper and pen into the gym without anyone else noticing. If he finds his emotions easier to process on the court, then could it help him if he wrote the letter… _on the court?_

Whether or not the exhilaration of being able to play volleyball with Hinata, of being _with_ Hinata, will effectively translate to the page, is questionable at best. But with every letter that flutters out of Hinata’s locker, a frantic need to be the one who wrote it burns like a white-hot iron in his chest.

That’s how he finds himself urging Hinata out the door after a particularly grueling extra practice. Tobio promised to finish the cleaning and lock the building properly.

“Just a few more spikes,” Hinata begs through a yawn. “I can do more.”

Tobio digs the heels of his palms into Hinata’s shoulder blades as he attempts to physically remove Hinata from the premises. “You’re tired and I can take down a net by myself. Go _home.”_

Hinata flails his arms, leaning so his whole weight is braced against Tobio. “Why are you trying so hard to get rid of meeee?” He pushes again so his back is flush to Tobio’s chest. “You’re not even going to walk home with me?”

“Not tonight,” Tobio huffs.

It takes more convincing (pushing) and sweet words (thinly veiled threats) to get Hinata to mount his bike and ride off into the night. As his figure fades in the distance, Tobio suddenly realizes that he’s spent the week focused on this opportunity and thus had forgotten to pack Hinata’s snacks. He feels momentary guilt before he shrugs it off. Hinata could survive a few days, plus his wallet needed a break.

The moment Hinata is out of sight, Tobio rushes to grab his supplies then back into the gym.

An empty gym can be intimidating, foreboding and extensive. The scent of sweat stained wood can permanently seep into the lungs of those who dare breathe it in. Karasuno’s gym itself is bathed in autumn’s color scheme and molded by the dark shadows of the night outside. Some might say it is a place to stay far away from, but to Tobio, it has become another form of home.

Tobio graceless settles into a crisscross position on the floor right where he usually stands during spiking practice. The bin of volleyballs is off to the side but he’s hyper aware of their presence, as if they all had eyes and ears meant to document every pen stroke.

The white paper is stark and unnatural on the floor, staring up at him with piercing indifference. He clicks the pen several times and pulls at his bottom lip. Faith in his plan creeps ever closer to crumbling with the increasing tempo of his heart beat.

“Put the pen to paper,” Tobio convinces himself. He sets the ball of the pen to the beginning of the first line. “You can do this.”

He applies more pressure. The ink splotch expands further. No words come.

Tobio begins with a simple _‘Dear Hinata’_ but frowns at how jagged and abnormal his handwriting looks. Regardless, he forces himself to continue.

In the end, he sits there until his legs feel like jelly and his shoulders are sore from hunching over. A grand total of two sentences race past his filter and brand themselves onto the page. They aren’t as beautiful or well-crafted as the others are, but it is a start, he thinks. Hinata will understand though, he _knows_.

Now to find a way to sneak this into Hinata’s locker—the person he races to school every day’s locker.

Tobio decides he’ll wait until the end of the week, in case his reaction results in some awkwardness. (He honestly hadn’t considered Hinata being uncomfortable with Tobio openly revealing his feelings. His attraction isn’t exactly a secret but what if Hinata doesn’t _want_ him publish them in an open manner? Better to be safe than sorry.)

He doesn’t mind the wait, as agonizing as it may be. A sudden patience overtakes him, perhaps due to the relief of being able to achieve what Hinata’s other admirers have—or the thrill of manifesting what Hinata probably already knows with physical words. Either way, Tuesday and Friday don’t seem too far apart. 

Little did Tuesday-Tobio know what a complete shit show Thursday and Friday would be.

* * *

It happens in the locker room and the never-ending carnival ride in Tobio’s brain is too overwhelming for him to be fully focused on the antics surrounding him.

Tobio’s thoughts are still focused on volleyball. Even directly after a long practice with nonstop sets and constant shouts towards the new first years. Even when he’s slipping out of his sweat drenched t-shirt and back into his uniform as the other guys snicker and gossip. He also cannot stop repeating his plan to leave his house early enough to sneak his letter into Hinata’s locker without anyone else around to witness. His brain flits back and forth between the subjects, Hinata making an easy bridge between the two. Volleyball, Hinata, Volleyball, Hinata, Volleyball, Hinata…

And it is in such a setting, where his thoughts are louder than his teammates’ voices, that a disaster occurs.

Breaking through the fog is a peculiar question posed by a mischievous and nosy first year, Eiji, directed towards Tobio, “What’s your type?”

Looking back, it is merely a strangely worded inquiry about who strikes his interest and/or his sexuality. But Tobio—poor, inattentive Tobio—is still trapped between his own ears and blurts out the subject he’s landed on: “Hinata.”

The shuffle of clothing stops completely, shoes squeak and tumble to the ground. The sudden halt of Earth is suffocating.

“Uh,” someone drawls but Tobio doesn’t hear it fully. He can’t hear _anything_ over his brain stuttering excuses and apologies that refuse to leave his tongue. Every pair of eyes migrate towards him at varying speeds while he stands with a shirt half-way on—nothing has made him this trapped in his life.

“I don’t see why you’re making a big deal out of this,” Tsukishima says coolly. He twirls the loops of his shoe laces and doesn’t seem to notice the attention of the room whirling on him. “That’s the most sense he’s ever made.”

Tobio slumps in relief as everyone else gives a unanimous shrug and continues about their changing routine. A sigh rushes out. Then he locks eyes with Hinata and he doesn’t breathe back in.

Oh _shit._

Hinata’s face, which is normally so expressive Tobio wonders how he doesn’t have wrinkles, is wiped of any expression. Even his fiery eyes are matte and vacant. Nothing about his expression calms the knots tangling in Tobio’s stomach. If Tobio moves a single inch, he’s sure his lunch is going to make an impromptu appearance.

“You might be out of luck though, Kageyama-san,” Kijuro, a filterless second year spiker Hinata had bonded with, pipes up. His pointed features stretch into a smug and suggestive expression. “Didn’t you say someone asked to meet with you after practice, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata simmers to life, eyes widening and jaw slackening. Tobio tears his eyes away before a blush could eclipse over his cheeks.

The blood flow to his limp hands slows to a crawl and numbness pools in his fingertips. Muscles in his back are taut along his spine as if a puppet master were pulling them like strings. He’s trying to, but his lungs refuse to fill up with oxygen. Nothing feels correct.

He’s tried. He’s tried so hard to make Hinata understand like the others have. But in the end, it’s the exact trait he was trying to overcome—just long enough to confess—which gets in the way.

Tobio mechanically adjusts his shirt and schools his mouth into its signature scowl. He’ll continue his plan as normal, he decides—so long as Hinata doesn’t message him tonight about a change in his relationship status. He can still salvage this; he fucked up but he didn’t _totally_ fuck up (maybe). His embarrassment made him vulnerable and the hissing remark stunned him momentarily, but he could recover discreetly (hopefully).

“I’m heading home.” Tobio glances at a wobbly Hinata. His face is pale enough for his faded freckles to jump out across his nose. Concerned, Tobio stoops to his discarded bag and produces his discarded half-empty water bottle. He tosses it in Hinata’s direction. “Here, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

Hinata fumbles the projectile with a yelp. “Oh…thank you.”

Tobio glares. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Hinata sputters, horning his feet into his tied shoes. “Just, uh, you aren’t going to walk with me?”

“You have someone to go talk to. So,” Tobio shrugs, “it’s easier if I go on. You won’t feel rushed.”

Hinata’s expression scrunches, hands fidgeting with the bottle’s lid. “I guess.”

Tobio slams his locker and scoops his duffle from the floor. He takes a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm long enough to utter a quick “see you tomorrow” before fleeing the club room.

Tobio keeps an eye on his phone, waiting for the inevitable text that Hinata had finally accepted a confession. In the meantime, he reads his note over and over again, pouring over the words like they hold some ethereal meaning he can’t quite grasp. Anxiety creeps in, threatening to seize control over his body. It might be better for him to work on his homework, he decides, maybe it will be a good distraction...

(It isn't.)

When he does get a message from Hinata, it isn’t one he’s expecting.

**_Hinata:_ ** _i did make it home safe in case u were wondering,,,_

Tobio frowns but immediately responds back.

_good_

**_Hinata:_ ** _u left really quick today. is everythign ok?_

_yeah. i have to go to sleep early tonite so i had to leave_

**_Hinata:_ ** _ok, well get plenty of sleep so i can beat u to school tomorow_

 _ah im going straight there from my run in the morning ill see u at practice_

**_Hinata:_ ** _oh_

Tobio bites his lip, staring daggers into the screen in front of him. What is that supposed to mean? Was Hinata mad at him now?

**_Hinata:_ ** _see u then ig_

Tobio sighs and locks his phone. He leaves his forgotten homework sprawled across his desk and floor as he goes through his nightly routine. He triple checks his alarm then finally lays down.

It’s surprisingly easy for Tobio to fall asleep that night—probably because of the emotional stress he’s put himself under. The last thing he thinks is how he has to make sure to pack an extra special snack for Hinata the next morning, something especially sweet. Or maybe two normal ones if he can’t find anything else…

* * *

It’s way too fucking early to have a staring contest with Hinata’s locker. Yet, here Tobio stands, exhaustion prickling his eyelids, esophagus rapidly closing, and a sealed letter with a clumsy _‘Hinata Shouyou’_ scribbled on the front clutched in his deadly grip. He’s grateful to every lucky star that no one else is around to witness any of this. They’d more than likely be wondering why he hadn’t blinked in the past five minutes.

Tobio steels himself, shoulders straightening, and with great effort, raises a hand to slip the note into the locker. The _thunk_ of the envelope reaching its destination and a thundering shout of _“hey!”_ are unanimous and equally blood chilling.

Robotically, Tobio whips his head towards the invading voice. And _of course,_ Hinata is standing a few yards away, puffing breaths not diminishing the fire in his eyes one bit. “You think you can—” gasp “—beat me that easily?”

Tobio opens his mouth soundlessly. His brain is only able to draw blank cards because, well, technically he _had_ beaten Hinata here already but also _what the fuck?_ Excuses catch between his teeth then refuse to budge. “I—"

“What did I do?” Hinata tramples onward, slender fingers curling into fists. “You acted so weird yesterday! And today you refused to race me but you’re just standing there not really doing anything?”

He gestures wildly towards the lockers and the floor Tobio’s shoes are glued to. Tobio barely manages to stutter out, “You didn’t do anything…?”

Hinata blows air through his nose like an agitated bull. “Then why are you acting like this?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Avoiding me? You haven’t brought food in, like, a week. Which you don’t _have_ to bring me snacks but it was really nice and suddenly you aren’t doing it and— _AH!_ My scarf! Why aren’t you wearing my scarf anymore?”

“It isn’t that cold, dumbass.” Tobio has never been more confused in his life. “I don’t need a scarf!”

Hinata ignores him. “Is it because I met with that girl yesterday? You know I never accept those confessions. Were you jealous or something—?”

Tobio recoils, trepidation striking him between his ribs. _“No,”_ he snarls. “I’m not jealous of you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

If there was ever a moment when time itself froze midair, it’s this one. The last statement hangs as delicately as a crudely made dish on the edge of a shelf. One tip, one stray sigh, could disturb its balance and send it hurdling to the ground in a cacophony of shattered clay. The universe in a small act of kindness accommodates to its fragility and stops time itself.

Swallowing, Tobio takes the plunge, head first into the alluring void. “What?”

Hinata deflates ever so slightly. For the first time since Tobio has met him, Hinata hesitates. Then, all at once, he takes the leap. “Are you jealous of them?”

“Fine,” Tobio spits. _Fuck it. “_ Yes, I _am._ Why the hell wouldn’t I be when everyone else can—tell you things so easily and I’m just—” Tobio doesn’t know how to move his hands so they flap uselessly in front of his torso. “I’m _me.”_

Tobio’s mouth spreads into a thin line and he clenches his hands around the strap of his bag in an attempt to still them. The corded textile is cool and familiar against his palms. He grips it hard enough to leave indents but he’s grateful for its presence. This morning is the most stressed he’s been in a while—it doesn’t help that Hinata is near him, watching with softened concern.

Tobio curls in on himself. He wishes he could hide but Hinata’s gaze is a powerful enchantment Tobio can never break himself from.

Slowly, Hinata steps forward until their shoes are mere inches apart; there is ample time for Tobio to back away if he so wishes. Tobio stares at the line of grout near his foot, refusing to look back up. 

“Yeah,” Hinata murmurs. “You _are_ you but…I like it.”

Tobio nearly gives himself whiplash with how fast he jerks his head up. Hinata meets him with a small knowing smile and Tobio’s heart turns to mush. In a burst of overwhelming affection and relief, Tobio blurts out the only thing he thinks he can in this situation. “I like you.”

Hinata laughs, high and lilting and beautiful. “I know!” More giggles shake his shoulders and Tobio swears the sun brightens behind him. “I like you too.”

“You…” Tobio flounders, fishing through all the questions swimming in his brain. Though, it's really difficult to think properly when pure joy bounces under the surface of his skin and reverberates throughout every cell in his body. “You knew?” 

Hinata huffs, crossing his arms overdramatically. “Of course! I didn’t really believe it at first because what if that was me just _wanting_ you to like me? I couldn’t take that chance so I thought it would be better to wait until you were more comfortable or something. Then yesterday happened and I knew you definitely liked me after the whole ‘Hinata is my type thing’ so I got really excited! But then I thought you were mad at me and I, uh, got nervous, I guess? I don’t know what I was thinking really, I just ran here.”

Tobio snickers, loosening his grip on his bag so he can reach for the piece of hair flopping over Hinata’s forehead. He gives the soft strand a gentle tug. “Stupid.”

“Hey!” The exclamation’s bite is softened by his grin. Tobio’s mouth twitches upwards as Hinata seizes his hand from the overgrown orange curl. Hinata’s palm is warm against the back of his hand, calloused and unfamiliar. 

Tobio twists his hand to entwine their fingers, forcing himself not to distort his face with a scary, almost-too-wide grin. He finally musters the will power to meet Hinata’s eyes. His russet irises burn like embers, not the raging inferno Tobio is so used to though the conviction does not stray away from the normal. The tiny crinkles at the corners begin to fade as his smile carefully slips off his face and leaves a serene imploring expression.

Tobio exhales in a quiet sigh. He brings their joined hands up to his lips and presses a shy kiss on Hinata’s knuckle.

Hinata’s mouth wobbles before he surges forward with a loud whine, pressing his nose against Tobio’s sternum. “You’re going to kill me. I’m going to die.”

A huff of laughter escapes Tobio and he says no more, releasing Hinata’s hand so their wrists didn’t bend awkwardly. He happily wraps his arms around his partner and squeezes. Not one to be outdone, Hinata pushes closer, clutching Tobio around his ribs. “I’m going to hug you to death before you can kill me first,” he says, voice muffled by Tobio’s chest.

Tobio tightens his grip, discreetly setting another kiss into Hinata’s hair (he likes that he can do that now). Hinata shrieks, “wait no!”

Together they dissolve into quiet chuckles that reverberate in every corner of that empty room and Tobio is so incredibly happy he can hardly take it. He accidentally squeezes Hinata again which earns him a sharp pat against his back when it gets too suffocating.

“By the way,” Hinata tilts his chin up but makes no move to unentangle himself from Tobio. “What were you doing here so early?”

Oh _shit._ Tobio forgot about that.

“Nothing.”

“What?” Hinata tries to lift his head, acting as if he’s about to step away. Before he could, Tobio buries a hand in his messy hair and brings him right back. 

“It’s not important,” he insists, noting to swipe the confession letter and hide it in his backpack later. He didn’t need it anymore.

Right now, he didn’t have to say a single word for Hinata to know exactly what he was trying to say. Which, ironically enough, is exactly what he had written on the crinkled paper stuffed in Hinata’s locker:

_I know there are a lot of both good and bad things about me. But I also know I love you, even if I can’t tell you exactly how much aloud._

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, fluff. How I've missed writing you.
> 
> Aaaand that is my contribution into the "Kageyama wouldn't be jealous of people liking Hinata but rather of other people being able to be more vocal about their emotions than he can" hat! Hope it made sense and all that nice jazz, it was a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Anyways, kudos/comments are loved and appreciated. If you want to check out my twitter, @meettheroyalmes , that is where I post occasional updates and stuffs.


End file.
